


The Phantom's Rose

by RoseaBee



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
Genre: F/M, Reincarnation, Soulmates, True Love, We were bored and my RP friend wanted me to post it, suck it Twilight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 19:24:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2519027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseaBee/pseuds/RoseaBee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say that love never dies, until death do ye part....</p><p>But how do they really know unless they've experienced true love at its purest? The kind of love that looks past all transgressions, past what would make others turn away in disgust, accept a person for who he is, and make a man want to be the best that he can be? </p><p>Who says that kind of powerful love can't beat the boundary of Death itself?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Phantom's Rose

"Hello Erik. Sorry I haven't been to see you in a while." The stout elderly woman says as she enters the marble mausoleum with a basket of flowers on an arm. She smiles, putting her free hand against the stone wall, her fingers tracing over the intricate cursive name, "Erik P. Destler" that shines in gold above a birth and death date.

Erik had lived longer than either he or even Rose would have imagined. They had adopted two children, watched as they grew up and start families of their own, even became grandparents to three kids. Out of how Erik would drone about terrible ways he was going to pass, Rose found herself relieved that he had simply fallen asleep and his old heart slowed to a stop without any kind of help; it was simply age.

The couple had been together for many years, having met when Rose was in her mid twenties. It was an oddity in and of itself, but it clearly hadn't bothered the duo from how their friendship had blossomed into so much more. Their love was a pure one that never saw either writhing in the passion of love-making, though that was something that neither had desired for.

He had left Rose five years earlier and in those years, it was as if Fate had hit the 'fast forward' button on Rose's appearance. She of course looked her age at eighty-three, but with the death of her mate and grieving, she aged decades, though her son, Xaphan always says that she was always still beautiful.

People of their town always gossip and whisper that perhaps life wasn't as golden as it appeared for the pair since Rose rarely visited the mausoleum that they assumed her money had bought, when it was quite different. Rose built the mausoleum herself, down to every carved detail. It was crafted with the upmost care and love to represent Erik's own for detail, music and architecture.

Why she didn't visit it often was because it wasn't where she felt her love was. In the coffin behind marble walls, was the husk that Fate was cruel to and she always said that Erik wouldn't be happy if she clung to the face he had so despised.

Though that doesn't mean she wouldn't pay her respects like this brisk autumn evening. She put the flowers she had brought in the golden holder that was welded into the wall, replacing the wilted and dried ones. She had the pulled up the wing-backed chair she brought from the Opera House cellars that he had before he decided to live with her at the Blackhill manor (Though as his wish, she had personally seen to it that the beloved Opera garnier). She talks about the grandchildren, how Luna's son is showing to be a wizard and Xaphan's twin daughters are just as shy as their daddy, but just as loving.

The old woman stays for a while, crying, chuckling, and sitting in silence for a while before she decides that it's time to leave and get a bit of air. Perhaps walking through the old park would do her well.

On the way, there was a small yellow eyed boy peeking through the fence where the park and cemetery meet. He had escaped his babysitter a while ago (like she had noticed, the teen was glued to her cell phone) and was wandering aimlessly around the park. When the old woman came through the gate, he quickly makes himself scarce, in case she should try to return him, tromping off through the fallen leaves with great loud crunches.

The old woman was relatively startled by the sound, though smiles serenely when she sees the boy. She doesn't do or say anything, though, as she continues her way through the park, tugging her shawl around herself a little tighter. She radiates ever little bit of a Cherokee Ghigua, or 'wise woman' minus the buckskin dress. Though her hair, that she once normally let hang in a wild mess of obsidian weaves and curls, is now kept in a long silvery rope of a braid down her back. The one thing that had never changed about her, though, was her bright and expressive pale green eyes.

There was something familiar about her that draws him to follow, but he doesn't recognize it. He slinks from tree to tree, curious.

Rose can hear him following her and she chuckles softly to herself, occasionally glancing back over her shoulder from time to time. She doesn't mind, she rather enjoys the company since she's been alone for so long. Eventually the stout old woman parks herself on a bench, slightly breathless and cursing her age.

"...Are you okay?" He asks, pausing a few feet away just in case.

"Oh yes, I'm quite all right, dear." She says in her elderly croak of a voice now, where she once held a sweet titter like that of a lark's song. "I can't get around as well like I use to."

The boy clambered up onto the bench beside the woman. "You have asthma too?" Guessing that because she can't breathe well.

The woman smiles, "Not quite. I'm just old." She chuckles, scooting slightly so he would have more room to sit comfortably and not have to perch. She doesn't want to start the 'I remember when' business. She all ready admitted to being old, like hell she wanted to take it _that_ far.

 _"Oh_ ." He says, "My parents are old, too. They say I'm a prodi-pro-prodigy...?" His tone is unsure as he stumbles to pronounce the word.

"A Prodigy, eh?" She says with a kind smile. "How? My parents once said I was a prodigy with a paint brush when I was about your age."

"Music. Like Mozart. But they're busy today, so no lessons."

She still smiles though it seems more sad. "It's always nice to see young ones nowadays with talent and using it instead of rotting their brains on television and technology."

"...Don't look sad.... I'm good with computers too. But that's not special." he says, almost sheepish.

Rose chuckles again, "Ah, I'm just an old woman thinking about the good days, dearie. Time flies faster than you'd believe. Make sure you cherish every moment, even the worst of days, because soon you'll turn around and wonder where exactly the years went."

He frowns slightly at that, "But the bad days aren't worth anything. "

"You'll always have a few bad days, and sometimes they can carry on for weeks. What I'm saying, is try to make the best of them, because they'll slip away before you know it." She says with a slight sigh as she remember her years spent.

"Are you telling the truth?" He asks slowly, "That they're worth it?"

The elderly woman nods once, "They may not seem like it, most usually aren't, but they do make the better days seem all the more brighter."

The boy looks down for a little while. "...I'm Erik...."

The woman's eyes seem to lighten and spark slightly at the familiar name and tenses the slightest, though she smiles once again, "I'm Rose." Despite her warm tone, she looks as if she could begin to cry.

"My- My real name is Charles, like my dad, but nobody calls me that... Hi Miss Rose..." Her expression confuses him slightly.

"Charles Erik, hmm? Very noble names." She says with a forced smile.

He smiles shyly and nods. "They're good names. I like yours. But why do you look so sad?" He questions with a little tilt of the head.

Rose sighs heavily, looking at the basket she has sitting in her lap with the dired and dead flowers in it, "...My husband's name was Erik. I had just come from visiting him at the cemetery."

"O-oh," the boy says with a tone of worry, not wanting to upset his newfound friend. "I-I still think your name is pretty, though." He says in a vain attempt to change the subject.

The woman chuckles softly under her breath, "Thank you dear. What brings you out to this lonely park on a chilly day like today?"

"My sitter brought me out cause we were bored inside. But I ran off." He says, clearly relieved at the taken change.

Rose laughs, "I use to do that when I was younger to avoid my lessons with my mother. I always got in trouble after, but it seemed like I never learned."

"...I don't get in trouble...." Erik says, mumbled under his breath.

"That's a good thing." She says as she watches a young couple pass, holding hands. The young woman sees Rose and smiles back. The two women share a knowing glance before the couple pass by, continuing down the paved path of the park.

"Are they happy?" He asks, tilting his head at the retreating pair. "They're lucky."

"Very." Rose says, "The woman's expecting." Rose seconds they thought about the couple being lucky.

"Expecting?" Erik frowns, not understanding. "Expecting what?"

"She's going to have a baby." Rose clarifies. "I'd say she's about three or four months along."

" _Ooh_. I don't like babies." He says, swinging his feet.

"They're a part of life. I myself never had a child, but I adopted two children. They're grown up now, of course, with babies of their own, but they'll always be my babies." Rose says with a serene smile as she reminisces about her son and daughter, Xaphan and Luna.

"Mama said something about not having any more babies cause I- cause I'm too much." Erik says, meekishly.

"I'll say from experience, when you're grown up, she'll begin to wish that she had taken the chance." Rose says with a little wink.

"I can't wait to be older..." he mumbles, crossing his arms and seeming to become a little grumpy.

The woman outright laughs, "I thought the same until I did. Now I wish I was young again. Everything hurts and it takes twice as long to do something than it did when I was twenty."

"But people listen to you," he whines with a dramatic flop against the back of the bench.

"Not always," Rose says pointedly.

"They don't listen to kids at all."

"It depends on what you're saying. Only the ignorant don't bend an ear for a child." She says in the same tone.

Erik shrugs and looks down the path. "I should go find my sitter. Else I really will get in trouble...."

Rose nods and forces herself to stand with a groan and the creaking of protesting knees, hips and back, "I should get going as well before it gets too cold. I wasn't joking about some things taking twice as long as they use to." She says with a slight labored chuckle.

"...Be careful, okay...?" The little boy says as he hops more easily from the bench, his worry for Rose clear in his expressive, wide eyes.

The elderly woman smiles kindly at the boy, "Same to you. Now hurry along, dearie, before you get in trouble."

"Okay! Bye!!" He waves and scurries off down the path.

She waves back before making her way in the other direction back to her home, the Blackhill Manor.

She had been right about the temperature dropping. The wind bit through her clothing even through the layers she had worn. She couldn't have been more elated to make it inside when she got home. She had gone about her lengthy routine of tidying up, changing into her comfortable nightclothes, brushing out then re-braiding her hair, before creaking down to the kitchen and making herself a bowl of soup to eat before she'd go to bed.

The manor was so lonely and quiet now as it had been for the past five years. The cats Ayesha and Piper, and even her horse Phera, had all died several years earlier to which both she and Erik had spent plenty of time --weeks and months-- consoling one another as their pets had been their only and best friends for the longest of time.

When she had finished her meager dinner, Rose had felt incredibly exhausted. Which was pretty normal, especially when she went anywhere, no matter the distance; even making a trip down the hall left her slightly winded these days. She manages to meander up to her bedroom where she gets into bed, settling down and closing her eyes as an overwhelming feeling of warmth and peace washed over her.

"Fret no longer, my u-we-tsi-a-ge-ya, for your soul will find its peace." A deep, though familiar voice calls to her through the darkness. Her long-since-lost late father, Nalin. "The pure love you held for Erik Destler was a strong one that surpasses all mortal bounds. You will see your love again in your next life, for Destiny and Fate have chosen this for you. May the Warm winds of Heaven blow softly on your home, and the Great Spirit bless all who may enter there. May you moccasins make happy tracks in many snows, and may the rainbow always touch your shoulder. Merry meet, merry part, and merry meet again, my beautiful Rosealina." The deep voice says. Rose's smile is a beautiful one as feels the soft touch of a pair of lips on her brow though the pitch black darkness before she feels a sudden jerk then engulfed in a bright white light.

An infant wails, arms flailing out from the warm blanket she's swaddled in as she's passed to a sweaty and sobbing mother wither her relieved and over-joyed husband peering down at the baby. Both are smiling and crying at the same time. The man tickles one of the round cherubim cheeks and says, "Welcome to the world, little Rose." he says as his wife lets out a tired chuckle and kisses their new born daughter's forehead.

**:~Epilogue~:**

It was printed in the news paper that a wealthy woman named Rosealine Ann Blackhill had passed away in her sleep within her home, leaving her two children and their families her home and fortune in her will. On her marker, where she was laid in the beautiful marble, black and scarlet tomb, next to her beloved, her epitaph read:

Mother, friend, and guardian to the very end.  
Love always finds its way.

And even through his tears at the funeral (both children had made sure that it was the most lavish funeral to say their goodbyes to the woman who had a heart made of the purest gold), Xaphan swears that his mother had the most radiant and beautiful smile he had ever seen when the preacher had said 'may she be greeted by her loved ones long past and the gates of Heaven welcome her with the loving embrace that she did with so many, turning a blind eye to what stories their pasts had told'.  
  
  
 _Fin._

**Author's Note:**

> There you have it. This was an RP that had been swimming in my head for about a year where I have a character on Facebook who's with the infamous Phantom of the Opera. The two had been a couple for about a year and his admin and I have done _tones_ of AU's, so I decided to throw this past 'em.
> 
> I apologize for any errors that I know are, simply let me know and I'll fix them.


End file.
